


this is how we remember

by andnowforyaya



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new transfer from the coast and this is how love happens.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>His voice is muffled behind the mask now, but Youngjae has no problem hearing. "Okay, but in the end," he tells Youngjae, eyes clear, bright like the sun, "You're the one who's going to get hurt."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	this is how we remember

This is a confession:

"Oh," Daehyun says, mask pulled down from his lips in his curled fingers, as Youngjae lets his hands fall, takes a step back and then another, the air between them charged and sharp even as the chains of the swing Daehyun's sitting in squeak. His eyes are a little narrow, like the way he'd look at a particularly difficult question on a test. He's been Youngjae's seat partner since he arrived from the coast, and Youngjae's had more than enough time to become familiar with his expressions.

Youngjae's heart thuds hard in his chest; he feels like he's waiting to see if he's passed.

Maybe he'd been reading Daehyun incorrectly all this time.

"So it was like that," Daehyun says. His fingers tug the mask back into place. Today it's a royal blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of midnight and stars, though it's the middle of the day and the only things Youngjae can see are his friend and the grid-like windows of the hospital's south wall rising up behind him. 

Youngjae forces his throat to open up again, to make noise. "Yeah," he musters, heat rising up in his cheeks. Daehyun could reject him. Could grow angry and demand that Youngjae never visit him again. 

His lips had been soft and his breath faintly minty. Daehyun hadn't returned the kiss but he hadn't pulled away, either.

Youngjae shoves his hands into the pockets of his school-uniform pants. He'd come right over after his last class today. Daehyun pushes his feet into the ground, bringing the swing into motion. He lets his shoes scuff and drag in the reddish dirt, eyes still narrow.

His voice is muffled behind the mask now, but Youngjae has no problem hearing. "Okay, but in the end," he tells Youngjae, eyes clear, bright like the sun, "You're the one who's going to get hurt."

Youngjae looks back up at the hospital windows behind Daehyun, imagines he can see the room where he's left his bag from school in the chair by Daehyun's bed. He doesn't say anything. He steps forward because Daehyun has stopped swinging, has reached out his hand for Youngjae to take, so Youngjae takes it.

His eyes are burning. He fixes his gaze at the windows and at the sky because neither shine as brightly at Daehyun, and he can't bare to look, to see his brave friend with the thread of his life stretched so thin it could snap.

"Push me," Daehyun orders, so Youngjae does from behind, gently, carefully.

"Higher," Daehyun whines.

"You could fall." His voice is rough. He swallows the gravel in it and hopes that Daehyun hadn't heard any difference.

Daehyun laughs, the sound small but clear. He says, "You'll catch me."

.

This is the first day:

The new boy gets to sit out during gym. Youngjae runs laps with Jongup, who's struggling to keep pace with him, but only because Jongup forgets how slow Youngjae is and lengthens his strides, and Youngjae says things like--

"I wonder what kind of note he had," and,

"I wonder what's wrong with him," and,

"I bet his Dad's a doctor and forged him the note."

Jongup breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, smoothly, rhythmically. "Maybe he's got a twisted ankle?" he offers reasonably. He doesn't feed into Youngjae's grumbling.

The new boy sits on the bleachers at one side of the track and field and looks over work that their homeroom teacher collected for him in order to help him catch up to where they are in all their subjects. On lap four, Youngjae watches him take one of the handouts and meticulously fold a perfectly balanced paper airplane out of it.

"Ah." The sound slips from his mouth as he trips over himself. The new boy tosses the paper airplane up and away. It flies right over their gym teacher's head.

The sound of a shrill whistle being blown makes everyone who's running laps falter, many boys looking over at the gym teacher quizzically, but he only shakes his head and waves them on. "You're not finished warming up!" he calls out to the class, a little too sing-song for Youngjae's taste. As a group they start up again, jogging in a mass.

"Jung Daehyun," the teacher yells next; the whistle had been for the new boy. "You may not be participating but I can still give you demerits for disrespect." He picks up the paper airplane, which had crashed to the track just a few feet away from him. Youngjae's a little too far away to hear the next words he says properly, but he's pretty sure the teacher yells, "And for littering!" 

Jung Daehyun laughs from the bleachers. The teacher walks over to him and he stands, and they talk, and within moments the scene shifts and it's like they're not teacher and student at all, but rather friends. Youngjae can hardly believe it. At the end of the exchange their teacher is nodding and smiling and clapping a hand on Daehyun's shoulder, and when Daehyun smiles it's with his whole face, like he can't restrain it even a little bit, like the sun cresting over the horizon.

He doesn't get any demerits.

He also never joins them for gym class.

.

This is how Daehyun studies:

"What's this question even mean?" He nudges Youngjae in the side, and when Youngjae doesn't answer immediately, continuously pokes at him with the eraser of his pencil. They're in the library sharing a table after school because Youngjae had seen Daehyun's latest grade for a history test they recently took and nearly had a heart attack.

The grade itself had been unmentionable. And then Daehyun had just shrugged when he took the graded test from their teacher and put it into a random folder in his desk. He hadn't even looked it over. He hadn't even  _cared_.

He hadn't protested, though, when Youngjae told him he'd help him study. Because it wouldn't do to have his seat-partner performing so low. It reflects poorly on Youngjae.

"Ah, you just want to spend more time with me," Daehyun had gushed, drawing Youngjae into a headlock under one arm and ruffling his hair.

Now, Youngjae snaps because the pencil is really hitting a tender spot in his side, and he's almost five problems ahead of Daehyun on their homework, and he'd promised his mother he'd stop by the grocery store to pick up some essentials on the way home before dinner, and it's getting late. "Just read it over again! The directions are right there."

Daehyun jabs him one last time, vengeful, before tossing the pencil onto the table. "Whatever," he says, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms. He'd taken his school blazer off and rolled up the sleeves of his button up, and when he glares, he really carries the aura of a discontented teenager well. 

Youngjae finishes the question he's working on before starting to feel guilty for his reaction. Daehyun is silent, but he can sense how annoyed the other is, the little hairs on his arms tingling in the tension. He'd been the one to offer his help, anyway. He sighs. "Listen, sorry. Daehyun, why don't we look at that question together, now? I was just really in the zone, you know? I get like that--"

But when he looks over, Daehyun's got a hand covering the bottom half of his face, palm pressed against his nose and mouth. His eyes are black and wide. Between his fingers dribbles blood. There are spots of red on the collar of his shirt, and they are spreading.

"Oh, my god," Youngjae gasps. "Are you all right?"

He's frozen. He's never seen a nosebleed so sudden and heavy.

Daehyun's got a handkerchief in his bag which he takes out after some digging, the one hand pressed to his face no longer sufficient to staunch the flow. His handkerchief is black, and he switches that out for his hand. His eyes glisten with something that Youngjae can't quite recognize. "It'll stop in a second," he says with some difficulty. "I guess I'm not used to the air here, yet." 

He can't see his lips smiling but by now Youngjae can tell by Daehyun's eyes - the way they squint into almost-crescents - when he does, and he thinks he can even recognize a fake by now. "I need to get going," he says next, almost apologetic, fake smile slipping, voice muffled by the cloth against his face.

They don't finish their homework that afternoon, but there are many afternoons after that.

.

This is a (small) fight:

Youngjae stays after school to study. Now, they have a table at the library. It's not really 'their' table, but everyone knows that after 3 o'clock on a weekday, the table in the west corner by the windows is Youngjae and Daehyun's. It gets the most afternoon sun on the floor, as the light slants in through the glass along one wall.

Youngjae studies, or finishes his homework. Daehyun mostly whines or folds his homework into paper cranes. If he's being completely honest with himself, Youngjae has no idea how Daehyun is performing better on his tests and assignments, since he does almost no more work than previously observed.

"I'm bored," Daehyun whispers, tossing another paper crane onto the table. There are plus-signs and variables on the wings. " _Youngjae_." He draws out the last vowel of his name, whining with it, singing it a little. 

"You could care a little about what we're learning in school, you know," Youngjae complains in return, scratching out an answer on his paper.

Daehyun grumbles in his seat. "Or I could not."

"Aren't you interested in anything other than folding paper and eating?"

He hears the up-and-down rustle of Daehyun's clothing as he shrugs.

"Don't you want to get a good job? I need to do well. I want to be a doctor."

"What do you want to be a doctor for?"

The sharp tone his voice carries stuns Youngjae enough for him to stop working, to turn and shoot Daehyun a confused glance. "To help people?" Youngjae explains. He shrugs, too. "To help people be healthy. It pays well, too, you know."

Daehyun says, "If you want to help people, maybe you shouldn't be a doctor, then," and his tone hasn't changed. Youngjae almost expects him to spit in disgust at the end of his sentence. Thankfully, he doesn't.

"Man, what do you have against doctors?" Youngjae forces out a little laughter to try to lighten him up, but the sun casts shadows on Daehyun's face and sharpens his eyes and frown.

"It's just dumb," Daehyun says, clipped. "Be something else."

Youngjae frowns. He feels a bit like someone has a fist around his heart and is squeezing sporadically. No on has ever stomped on his dream job like that. Such a quick dismissal.

Daehyun has crossed his arms onto the table and laid his head on them, forehead pressed against his tanned skin. "It's boring," he says again. "Ah, how predictable of you."

This makes a spark of annoyance run up Youngjae's back. It is more than the words; it's Daehyun's utter dismissal of him at that moment. "And what do you want to be, huh?" he asks more harshly than he'd intended. "A bum? Wait - let me guess. An actor?"

"I've never thought about it," he mumbles into his arms.

"What?"

"You think I can be an actor?" He's raised his head again and he's looking at Youngjae with naked anticipation.

"You've never thought about it?"

Daehyun shrugs. "What makes you think I can be an actor?"

"Not an actor," Youngjae amends, regretting how his words are already seeming to inflate his friend's healthy ego. "Maybe a food critic. Professional eater."

"Must be my face," Daehyun sighs wistfully, bringing up a hand to rub at imaginary stubble on his chin. "So handsome, right?"

Daehyun brings his face closer to Youngjae's and for a moment his heart flutters in his chest before he remembers that this is Daehyun, and Daehyun is ridiculous. He pushes his face away with the palm of his hand. "Who taught you that word? You're using it totally incorrectly."

But Daehyun laughs even with the hand in his face, pleased that his physical attractiveness has been reaffirmed in a slightly roundabout way. "You've given me a new life goal, Youngjae. Actor, Jung Daehyun. Nice ring to it, right? Wow, it's like my life finally has direction! I could kiss you."

He doesn't, of course, but the image stays with Youngjae, after, and he wonders what it would feel like.

.

This is their first conversation:

The class quiets when a new body enters the room through the open door near the front. It's a little unorthodox, since the homeroom teacher has yet to call the class into session, and yet there this new body is, in a nicely-pressed school uniform, and with both straps of his book bag on his shoulders, and his black hair closely cropped and styled. 

He's got a nice face, for a guy, Youngjae admits to himself. Angled enough to be masculine but with rounded cheeks and full lips and large eyes. His ears are a little funny, though, the way they stick out from his head. Youngjae chuckles a little to himself and that's when the new kid says, rough and in the up-and-down accent straight from the coast, "So this is a Seoul classroom, huh?"

Luckily their homeroom teachers dashes in then, and not a moment too soon, as a few of the bigger boys begin to crack their knuckles menacingly in the new student's general direction. Ms. Park is the kind of teacher all high school students want: young enough so that when she talks it doesn't feel condescending, pretty enough for both boys and girls to pay attention, strict enough to gain respect. 

She says, "Hey, who's this?" as soon as she stumbles in and takes her place at the front of the classroom, while the new student stares. "Oh, you're the new boy, right? Jung…Taehyun?"

"Jung Daehyun," he corrects immediately. A moment later, as though an after-thought, he bows to her.

"Well?" Ms. Park prompts, letting the momentary lapse of respect slide. Her only downfall is mornings. She can't quite seem to get herself together before 10am on any given day. "Introduce yourself," she demands, and a few students snigger. She hears the sniggering right away and snaps, "Hush. Be nice."

Jung Daehyun introduces himself. He definitely has an accent. The kind that merits the nickname  _Busan_  for the next few weeks.

"Go sit next to Yoo Youngjae. Youngjae, raise your hand," their teacher instructs.

Youngjae raises his hand.

Daehyun plods along as attendance is taken, and he doesn't so much sit in his seat as fall into it, like he's mocking Youngjae's relatively perfect posture. "Yoo Youngjae, huh?" he says.

He has a direct way of speaking, a direct way of looking at someone. Youngjae glances and makes eye contact and can't look away, as though held by a spell. "Nice to meet you," Youngjae greets.

"You, too."

"So, you're from Busan, huh?"

"Basically," Daehyun says, shrugging. He'll find that Daehyun shrugs a lot.

"That's nice. Your accent is good. It's really popular with the girls here."

"Why?"

Youngjae sits with that question for a moment. Daehyun still hasn't looked away. It's a little unsettling, especially with the way the sun is glancing in through the windows behind him.

"I don't know. They think it sounds cool? Like, manly, I guess. Strong."

"Ah," Daehyun acknowledges, with a little of his head. "Strong is good."

Then he looks away, and the spell is broken, but for the rest of the day Youngjae can't get his voice out of his head.

.

This is how he finds out:

There's a day that Daehyun doesn't show up at school. Halfway through English class, he gets a text message on his phone and has to duck when their teacher whips a piece of chalk at him. He apologizes, of course, feeling the stares of his classmates around him, feeling uncomfortably bare at the attention. He hasn't realized how much he'd grown accustomed to Daehyun's presence beside him, like he'd become Youngjae's buffer to the real world.

When the teacher turns back around, Youngjae brings his phone out of his pocket, puts it on silent, and reads the text message under the desk.

 _Emergency!_  it reads.  _Come immediately to V Cafe!_

It's from Daehyun. The class has lunch next period, but even so, he's not going to duck out of school unless it's a real emergency, and he has a feeling that, this being Daehyun, it's not. 

 _In school_ , he texts back.

 _Skip_ , is the immediate response.  _I mean it. This is serious. I could die._

Youngjae sighs. The noise catches the teacher's ears and makes him pause in his lecture. He levels Youngjae with a glare from the front of the room, a second warning. 

 _Don't be dramatic_ , he texts back before nodding his head in apology at the teacher again and putting his phone away.

He doesn't skip lunch. He eats with Jongup and Jongup's friend Junhong, and he turns down a lunch trade from their senior Himchan, whom Youngjae knows through some student government activities last semester.

He goes about his day, but he can't stop thinking about the texts. He wonders if Daehyun is still at V Cafe, what the supposed emergency is, how Daehyun came to be such a ridiculous human being.

During last period he resolves to stop by the cafe on his way home, just to check. He texts Daehyun again but doesn't get a response.

V Cafe is a little shop sandwiched between two other cafes on a busy block, but it's become another thing that's 'theirs' but not really theirs ever since Daehyun came into his life and entered the cafe and became friends-for-life with a part-timer there named Bang Yongguk. The decor is simple and bright, and the cafe itself uncluttered. Usually, there is some form of jazz playing on the sound system in the background.

Youngjae opens the door and smiles at the little bell that rings above it, now familiar, and then again, wider, when he see Yongguk behind the counter. "Hyung," he greets.

Surprisingly, when Yongguk sees him, he doesn't return his smile. Yongguk's face can be severe and downright frightening when he wills it to be, given his stern features and short hair. He says, "Youngjae,  _finally_. God, he won't  _leave_. He's been here for hours.  _Hours_."

"Who?" Youngjae asks, even though he knows exactly who, as Yongguk gestures to something behind the counter, on his side and hidden from Youngjae's view. He approaches and leans over the barrier to look, and on the other side of the display for pastries and fresh sandwiches, Daehyun is sitting cross-legged on the cafe floor, folding what looks like his hundredth paper crane that afternoon, a whole flock of the paper birds in a pile around him. His book bag is leaning against him, and Youngjae can see that it is unzipped and there are even birds spilling out of its insides, too.

"Please," Yongguk begs him. "I think I'm out of paper. For the  _week_."

"Has he been doing that all afternoon? How long has he been here?" He can't quite keep the disbelief out of his voice. That is a  _lot_ of origami he's seeing. Daehyun has yet to acknowledge him.

"Yes. Too long. I don't know. He was here before I even got here, and he'd eaten, like,  _all_ the croissants. And he stopped talking to me an hour ago. Look." Yongguk turns to Daehyun, who is singularly focused on the paper in front of him, and calls, "Yah, Daehyun! You've been here for too long! Go home! Your face is ugly. I don't want to look at it, anymore."

No response.

Yongguk turns back to Youngjae, one eyebrow raised as though to say, "See?"

Youngjae tries. He says, "How are you going to take all those paper cranes home, dummy?"

Daehyun freezes. Yongguk startles at the reaction and reaches out to grasp Youngjae's wrist. He tries to shake it off unsuccessfully.

Daehyun's lips barely move, barely make a sound, but Youngjae hears him. "I'm not going home."

"Ah!" Yongguk cries, agitated. He tosses Youngjae's wrist back to him, and Youngjae steps back, surprised at the sudden outburst. "I don't know! Can you please, just, do something? I have to - mind the shop!"

He stomps off around the counter with a tray and begins angrily clearing tables.

Carefully and slowly, like he's approaching a wounded animal, Youngjae approaches Daehyun and crouches down in front of him, avoiding crushing the cranes. Daehyun glares at Youngjae's encroaching feet like he finds them offensive.

"Was this the emergency?" Youngjae asks him. "Needed an extra bag to carry home all these birds?" He laughs, joking, but sobers again when Daehyun doesn't respond to his attempt at humor. Instead, Daehyun holds the crane he has in his hands by its wings, one wing in each hand, and begins to pull.

He pulls until the bird is ripped in half, and then he tosses those halves at Youngjae. The paper bounces off of him harmlessly. "Why didn't you come?" Daehyun growls.

"I'm not skipping school to fold cranes with you," Youngjae tells him, rolling his eyes.

"That's not - I'm not!" Daehyun lets out a noise that Youngjae's never heard from him before, part roar and part sob and part self-deprecating laugh. "Whatever!" 

Angry and flustered, he zips up his book bag and stands abruptly, the cranes that hadn't made it into his bag falling to the floor. He stomps on them when he vaults himself over the counter and to the other side, walking briskly to the front door without looking back. 

Youngjae follows his movements with wide eyes. On the floor under the mound of cranes, a cell phone buzzes. Daehyun's. He grabs it and follows, around the counter and out the front door, pausing briefly to say goodbye to Yongguk, who salutes him half-heartedly. 

Daehyun's already halfway down the block by the time he exits, and he has to jog to catch him before he reaches the streetlight at the corner. "Daehyun! Your phone!"

His friend stops so quickly that Youngjae nearly runs into him. Daehyun turns and suddenly they are face to face on the sidewalk. "Your phone," Youngjae repeats weakly, caught off guard and holding up the item like an offering. As Daehyun takes it, he sees the caller ID on the screen:  _Mom_.

Daehyun rejects the call.

"Hey! You should answer that!"

Immediately, the phone starts ringing again.

"If it's your mom, you should answer," Youngjae says again, confused at his friend's behavior. Daehyun's always been a little abrasive, a little wild, but this is a little too much.

He catches Daehyun's eyes with his own and holds them, though Daehyun's glaring. This time, Daehyun answers. "Mom," he whispers into the phone, never stopping his glare.

"No," he says next. "No. Maybe. I skipped. I'm sorry." Then, a long pause. His mother says something that makes Daehyun drop his glare. They'd moved from the corner to the side of a building, and now Daehyun turns into it, hiding his face from the pedestrians on the sidewalk. " _No_ ," he says again, this time wretched and wrecked. " _I don't want to._ "

Youngjae takes a step closer, lays a hand on Daehyun's shoulder and exhales in relief when it isn't shrugged away. 

The opposite happens completely. Daehyun steps into his space instead, his forehead now pressed against Youngjae's collarbone as he speaks into the phone, his other hand covering his opposite ear. Youngjae doesn't know what to do. He has an arm still over Daehyun's shoulder, but now they are nearly chest-to-chest, and his other arm hangs limply at his side, awkward.

"Mom." Daehyun's voice shudders. " _Please_  don't make me go back."

The area of Youngjae's collarbone cools and becomes damp. With a start, Youngjae realizes that Daehyun is crying.

He brings up his other arm and hugs him, because it seems the right thing to do.

Daehyun folds himself into Youngjae's arms.

"You should just let me go. I'm not going back. I'm hanging up," Daehyun mumbles into the phone. "I love you. I'm hanging up. I'll call you later. I love you."

He hangs up. He sways in Youngjae's arms. Or maybe they sway together. Eventually, Daehyun stops crying. Eventually, Daehyun raises his face from Youngjae's shoulder and says, "Ugh, I got snot all over your blazer."

Youngjae asks, "What's going on?"

"I should get you a new blazer," he observes, holding Youngjae's shoulders and somehow avoiding looking into his eyes, though their faces are close.

" _Daehyun_ ," Youngjae says with as much gentle authority he can muster. "I'm confused and this is kind of scaring me, and I need you to tell me what's going on."

Daehyun sighs, breath still shaky. "Okay, but we should sit down."

They go back to V Cafe, and Yongguk eyes the both of them suspiciously but otherwise leaves them alone, and the story goes like this: Once there was this little boy who was very sick, and he grew up in a city by the ocean but barely ever saw it, because he was always locked away getting various treatments or trying different medicines. His parents spent a lot of time and money and love trying to make him better, and for a while things were looking good. He went into this thing called remission. His parents decided they would move to Seoul, where the doctors were supposed to be better, so that he could stay that way. But Seoul doesn't really work out. He meets some pretty cool people, but maybe the doctors aren't better. Maybe he was never meant to stay better, because he's sick again, and it's worse than before, and now they want to lock him away again, and this time he's not even near the ocean.

Daehyun finishes his story, and they sit for a little while in silence. Youngjae feels a whole symphony of emotions trying to organize itself into something coherent, and eventually the emotions just crescendo and crest over in the form of tears, and this time he's the one crying and Daehyun's dry-eyed. 

He's probably used to people mourning him, Youngjae realizes terribly.

"You're the boy," Youngjae says.

"Yes."

"And you're sick."

"Yes," Daehyun says again.

"How bad is it?" Youngjae pleads.

Daehyun shrugs. "Very," he lets him down easily. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Youngjae cries in the cafe while jazz plays overhead. 

Daehyun doesn't return to school.

.

This is a good day:

Technically Daehyun's not allowed to go outside without supervision. Technically, he's got a schedule to follow today - technicians and tests and a consultation. But one second of his puppy-dog sad eyes at the nurse currently on shift coupled with Youngjae's pleading and promise to bring him back in one piece, and  _technically_  is just a word.

The one condition is that he wear a mask. This is all right with him.

"Air!" he shouts happily as he changes into civilian clothes in his hospital room. "Fresh, real, natural air!" He shrugs jeans onto his slimmer hips, shamelessly pulls off the gown and pulls on one of Youngjae's v-neck sweaters that he'd brought over for the day. It hangs a little loose on Daehyun's shoulders, the dark color highlighting how skinny Daehyun's gotten. The face mask he picks out is black with gold stars on it. "Let's go!" he says through the mask, eyes squinting in a smile. He grabs Youngjae's hand and drags him out of the hospital and outside.

"Where's your bike?"

"Wait - you want to go  _outside_  outside?" Youngjae is still in his school uniform, having biked over after classes ended.

"Chocopie!" Daehyun shouts. "Chips! I need convenience store food, like, yesterday, Youngjae."

"I could have just brought you some," Youngjae hedges, unsure about leaving hospital grounds."Youngjae," his friend says. "Please. I'm suffocating in there."

"But--"

"Or I could just steal your bike and go explore on my own and get lost on the way back and freeze to death on a park bench tonight, all alone, because you didn't want to help me."

They reach Youngjae's bike, which he'd locked up in a line of many others. "Ugh, fine," Youngjae gives in, inevitably. 

The lock clicks open and no sooner has Youngjae zipped it away safely into his book bag and climbed onto the seat has Daehyun clambered up after him, hands on Youngjae's shoulders, steady.

Youngjae looks back and Daehyun pulls the face mask down and darts forward, plants a quick, chaste kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," Daehyun says, sincerely, pulling the mask back on tight so that Youngjae misses the way his lips curl up at the corners, pleased at having caught him unaware.

That afternoon Daehyun kisses him on the nose, too. And on his forehead and on his chin. And back in the hospital room surrounded by their convenience-store spoils, he sits facing Youngjae on the bed and kisses him on the lips.

.

This is a bad day:

Daehyun's mother calls him after school. He answers, hesitantly, because this is a first, and it can't be good news.

He's right.

"Youngjae-ah," Mrs. Jung says. "Is Daehyun with you?"

His heart drops into his stomach. He'd been walking his bike home, but now he pauses, his body having already made the decision to go visit the hospital before his mind can even consider it. "No," he tells Daehyun's mother.

She lets out a soft sound. "That brat," she grits, trying to sound tough, but she just sounds anxious. "Can you try calling him? I'm at the hospital. He's not in his room and he won't answer his phone."

"Of course. Sure. I'm hanging up. I'll call you back."

"Okay."

He calls Daehyun. Daehyun's voice message is him singing an old pop song about a jilted lover telling anyone calling to leave a message. His voice is smooth, clear, but he doesn't answer.

He calls Mrs. Jung back, and she picks up before the first ring has a chance to finish. "Yes?"

"He didn't pick up from me, either."

She curses.

"Listen. I have an idea. I'll call you back in a little bit, okay?" 

He hangs up without hearing her reply, but he has a hunch, and usually his hunches are correct.

It takes him a good fifteen minutes to bike to the hospital, since it's the opposite way from his family's apartment, and then another ten to sneak into the south wing of the hospital and into one of the emergency stairwells, ducking where he knows from experience there are security cameras.

He climbs the stairs until there are no more stairs to climb, and pauses at the door. There's a brick in the jamb, and by the time he's pushed the heavy door open and stepped back outside, the sky is dark.

Daehyun lies flat on his back on the roof of the hospital, a pillow underneath his head that he'd brought up with him. He doesn't move for Youngjae but doesn't push him away, either, when Youngjae claims the other side of the pillow and lies down, too.

Today the mask is deep purple. Their arms brush against each other. Youngjae turns his palm to slot his hand into Daehyun's, and keeps it there.

"Your mom is looking for you," Youngjae informs him.

A beat passes.

Daehyun says, "I knew you'd find me."

"How long have you been up here?" 

"I don't know."

"Did you miss any tests or anything?"

"Probably."

"They'll schedule them again."

The stars are never as bright as Youngjae thinks they're going to be. He can make out a few, usually, from this roof top, but they fade in and out like they're running low on battery. 

"How are you going to get better if you keep running off like this?" Youngjae whispers. He's begging. He squeezes Daehyun's hand.

"Better," Daehyun repeats, voice muffled and dull. "And then what? This again. Maybe I don't want to get better. I don't know what that word means anymore."

"It means no more hospitals," Youngjae insists.

"Sometimes I think I don't exist outside of this hospital. This is the farthest I can go before I disappear. School was a dream. The ocean, another planet. I look at the stars and think I hate them, for being so far away."

Youngjae swallows, his eyes hot. The way Daehyun can speak so frankly, so without emotion sometimes, always makes him think about how much he's already gone through in his life. "You exist," he promises. " _You exist to me_."

Daehyun shifts, rolls and brings their hands up to his chest and presses his face into Youngjae's neck on the shared pillow. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll go back inside, okay?"

Youngjae nods, knowing Daehyun can feel the movement.

A few minutes turns into much longer.

Youngjae texts Daehyun's mother with his free hand.

 _Daehyun's okay_ , he sends.  _I'm with him. I got him. We'll be back soon._

.

This is how Daehyun's mother finds out about them:

It gets worse. Soon, Daehyun tells him, you'll get tired of never breathing fresh air or hearing the birds chirping. Of the hospital and the nurses and the machines. You'll get tired of me.

"It's winter," Youngjae answers him, his voice existing only in that tiny space between their faces because they are curled towards each other on Daehyun's hospital bed, apostrophes bracketing only each other. The blinds are drawn or the sun has set. It doesn't matter. Time exists outside of this room.

A machine beeps steadily from somewhere inside. Youngjae hardly notices anymore. "There aren't any birds chirping out there, anyway."

He doesn't touch Daehyun, because some days, it hurts him.

Today is one of those days.

Daehyun smiles to himself, the kind of smile Youngjae wants to steal and keep in his back pocket. Today his beanie is pink. When he's in his hospital room, he doesn't have to wear the mask. Moments later, Daehyun is asleep.

Still moments later, or maybe minutes or days, Daehyun's mother opens the door, a soft and practiced click and turn of the handle. She enters the room and Youngjae startles, rolls up from the bed carefully, stands to the side and fumbles for an explanation, thinking them caught, easily imagining a scenario wherein Mrs. Jung demands he never come near her baby boy again.

While he struggles, heart pounding, Daehyun's mother sits on the other side of the bed, her slight weight making it dip. Daehyun's back is to her, but she is smiling. Her smile is like her son's, quick and bright and futile.

"Youngjae," she whispers.

"Mrs. Jung," he greets politely, despite his internal turmoil.

She says, "How are you," never taking her eyes from her son. She reaches out a hand to Daehyun and measures the way Youngjae flinches immediately and pulls back. "It's bad, today, I see."

"Yes," Youngjae tells her. Earlier he'd come into the room and surprised a sleeping Daehyun by sneaking onto his bed and laying an arm over his ribs, only to roll away and off when Daehyun immediately woke and groaned, curling into himself and breathing quick and shallow. Now, he frowns at remembering the pain he'd unknowingly caused.

"You are very sweet to him," his mother observes. "I should thank you. We are lucky he has you, too."

The machine beeps from somewhere in the room, in time with the beating of Youngjae's heart. " _What?_ " he manages through a closed throat.

She says, "Sometimes our Daehyun doesn't want to talk to us, to his parents. I can understand why. It's been hard for him. Some of the things - some choices we've made as a family, and as parents, have been very difficult, and we have suffered a lot. But during those times, I breathe a little easier now, because I know at least he will talk to you."

She says, "So, thank you. I am his mother, after all, and you love him, don't you? As much as you are able to at this point in your life. And as his mother, I just want him to feel as much love as he can before --"

She stops, shudders, her breath seeming to be caught behind her teeth. Her eyes are shining. Youngjae knows what she'd been about to say. He finds his breath is caught, too.

The machine beeps from somewhere in the room. It tells them that Daehyun is alive.

"Youngjae-ah," she whispers again, though this time her voice is shaking. "What am I going to do when he's gone? What are we going to do?"

.

This is what it's like without him:

Ms. Park doesn't give Youngjae another seat partner for a while. He places a paper crane in the center of Daehyun's desk, sloppily folded and without the crisp lines that Daehyun could manage out of the material. The next day there are twenty more, and a bouquet of white flowers, and letters written by fellow students and teachers. He thinks he sees the gym teacher's whistle nestled in the pile in front of the flowers.

Youngjae tries but he's frozen at the door, like there's a hand pulling him back from the entrance. Ms. Park is already taking attendance. They watch each other for a moment, the class resoundingly silent, and for a moment it feels as though he's interrupting a sermon in a church, and then Youngjae knows in that instant that he won't be joining them for the day. He steps back, bows, apologizes, and turns to walk down the hallway and to the main doors of the school.

He thinks he hears one of the girls in his class try to call him back.

"Yoo Youngjae," Ms. Park's voice rings out down the hall.

"Present," Jongup says.

There's a pause but Youngjae's already rounded the corner. Ms. Park's affirmation is quiet in his ears. "Present," she acknowledges.

.

This is a recording:

The camera on Youngjae's phone comes into focus. He sees the hospital room from the place where he usually sits - in the chair closest to the window by Daehyun's bed, opposite the door. It's a small room - he could walk from one side to the other in less than 10 steps - but it's private, and there's a closet and a bathroom and it could be someone's bedroom, if not for the IV drip by the bed and the constant beeping of a monitor.

The door is open. Daehyun is sitting cross legged on the bed in a gown and his red beanie pulled down over his ears, and he's trying to balance the phone on something, but his index finger keeps snagging on the cord of the machine it's attached to. The world shakes.

When he's satisfied, he sits back and sighs a little, tilting his head from side to side as though testing the camera's angle. He's alone.

The machine beeps in the room, and then Daehyun says, "Youngjae. Yoo Youngjae.  _Dear_  Youngjae." He shakes his head, smiles that back-pocket secret smile of his.

"When you're a doctor you'll probably meet a lot of kids like me, huh? And you'll be really good for them. You were - are - good for me. When you're a doctor you can't forget that, okay? You're going to be amazing, but just always remember that sometimes the best thing for a sick kid is a great friend, like you."

He pauses, scratching at his scalp under the beanie. They'd shaved his head a couple of days ago. Without the beanie, Daehyun looks a little alien-like. A little other-worldly. Very young.

"I'm glad I met you," he continues, pulling down the beanie over his eyes now but still smiling, embarrassed. "Right now you're getting me a coffee from the vending machine in the lobby. You'll probably be back soon so I'm going to make this fast.

You take care of my mom, okay? I know you're going to anyway, because that's the kind of guy you are, but I have to say it. She's not going to deal with it very well when I'm - you know. My dad won't either, but he's a little stronger on the outside."

Daehyun pushes the beanie up again so that Youngjae can see his eyes, glistening a little now. He glances behind him at the door and back again. In a lower voice now, he says, so low that Youngjae has to bring the phone close to his ear, "And don't forget me, either, okay? You're not allowed to. But you have to remember me how I was at school, with you, at the library, at the cafe, at the river. Not here. Promise?"

A pause. He reaches for the phone, his hand huge for a moment on the screen, and then the world shakes again. "And you know what else?" he begins slowly, the camera now close to his face. "I think...I like you a lot." 

On screen, he's holding the phone up but not looking at it. He says, "It's like my whole heart realized it was running out of time and threw all its feelings into one pot. Into you. Maybe I was a little desperate. Maybe not. I'm sorry I won't graduate with you. I'm sorry I won't get to see you in college. I'm jealous of all the people who will get to meet you. I hope you make lots of money and fall in love and are happy." 

He scrubs the sleeve of the gown over his eyes, sniffing, taking a shuddering breath. Youngjae remembers all those things Daehyun mentioned, can't imagine forgetting anything about Daehyun, about his accent and the way his eyes scrunch up when he smiles, his impatience and direct way of speaking. How his face changes when he thinks of his hometown, when he watches the stars. How his face changes when he looks at Youngjae. 

When Daehyun speaks again, his voice trembles. "Actually, you better, because you're it for me, you know? There won't be anyone else."

Another pause. Daehyun scrubs at his eyes again, and again. He laughs, soft. "Ah, I think I hear you coming back. Got to put on my acting face, right?" The scene on the screen shifts so that all Youngjae can see is the smooth ceiling. A moment later, he hears himself saying that's got coffee at the door, and the screen goes black.

.

This is a date:

Some days, Daehyun is free. In between the tests and the scans and the medicine (and before it's bad, before Daehyun has to stay hooked up a machine), there is the waiting, and Youngjae plans carefully.

He arrives at precisely 4:15pm in Daehyun's hospital room, where he'd known Daehyun would be laying around reading comics, and says, "Come on, we're going out."

It doesn't take long at all for Daehyun to respond, for him to throw his graphic novel to the mattress and stretch his arms up and smile; for him to squeal a bit that Youngjae needs to turn around while he changes, because his  _sensibilities_ , man; for him to announce that he's ready by squeezing Youngjae tight around the middle from behind, disarming, and Youngjae is disarmed, has been ever since Daehyun walked into his classroom with that accent and that attitude, burrowing a space into Youngjae's chest and calling it a home.

"Where are we going?" Daehyun murmurs into his ear, a pleasant shiver crawling up Youngjae's spine at the vibrations.

"On a date," Youngjae tells him, fiddling with his scarf over the blazer of his school uniform, because this is happening, this is Daehyun and Youngjae and high school, this is the hospital he wants Daehyun to escape, the sickness they can ignore until it brings Daehyun to his knees. 

"Oh," Daehyun chuckles. "How romantic."

And this is the way it's supposed to feel, isn't it? The circle of Daehyun's arms and his heart beating against Youngjae's back, an itch to turn around and press his nose into Daehyun's neck, to breathe him in. They are not a boy and a girl, and in this tiny moment for Youngjae they are not even a boy and a boy. Youngjae gives into the urge and Daehyun is the ocean, so maybe that makes Youngjae the shore.

They tell Daehyun's mom that they're going to spend the day out, and she lets them go, her eyes twinkling. 

They hold hands once they're off hospital grounds, once they're on the sidewalks of Seoul, and they go to V Cafe and get iced coffees and chat with Yongguk for a while, and they go shopping in stores well above their price range, and Youngjae makes Daehyun try on a dress and he snaps a picture before the other can protest, and they get kicked out of nearly all of the shops, and they laugh and Daehyun's hand is warm and dry and his.

By the time they wander far enough to walk along the Han River, the sky is pink with the last rays of the sun before it dips below the horizon, and the air is beginning to chill. Youngjae buys them ddokbokki from a street vendor and feeds it piece by piece to Daehyun with a toothpick, his mask pulled low under his chin, and the older lady who sells it to them gives them an extra serving. "You look happy," she tells the boys. "And I like my customers to be happy. You remember this stand for the future, okay?"

"Okay," Youngjae promises politely, but Daehyun is already running off to a recently-vacated bench with a view of the water. He takes off after him, laughing, shouting for him to slow down.

The water glistens with the reflection of the setting sun. Soon, the street lamps will turn on and the river will reflect the lights of the buildings of Seoul like there are stars in its depths. They sit and watch the sky change colors and Youngjae wraps half of his scarf around Daehyun's neck, and Daehyun takes his mask off and shoves it into the pocker of Youngjae's blazer, and Daehyun beams at him, pink-cheeked. "Ah, so embarrassing," he comments, hands playing with the scarf, but he makes no move to remove it.

" _You're_  embarrassing," Youngjae returns automatically. "Jung Daehyun."

People pass by them on the walkway and if they look twice at the boys it doesn't matter, because they are warm against each other's sides. They talk about school, and Daehyun asks after Jongup and the others, and how Youngjae's studies are going. They talk about the comics Daehyun is reading. They talk about their families, a movie they want to watch, a song that's just come out. When conversation lulls, there is no lingering awkwardness like Youngjae has experienced in the past with others, no fervent desire to fill the silence with another meaningless question or comment, because it feels like there is nothing between them that could be meaningless.

Daehyun sighs. Youngjae mirrors him.

A beat passes. Daehyun asks, "Are you happy? Like that lady said?"

The question seems out of place, too serious for the day he'd wanted, Daehyun's voice quiet and hesitant. Turning to look, he finds Daehyun much closer than expected, his face soft in the waning light, his eyes dark and glittering. He could close the distance easily, catch Daehyun's full lips with his own, but he recognizes the question for what it is. 

" _Yes,_ " Youngjae says. "Today was perfect. What about you?"

"You make me happy," Daehyun admits. "Every time I'm with you."

It's not a yes, but the sun sets and the lights come on, and there are stars in the river.

.

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on [tumblr.](andnowforyaya.tumblr.com)


End file.
